Katharine of Aragon's Heartbreak

Despite my obvious love for Anne Boleyn, I admire Katharine of Aragon. She was a woman of strength and courage, willing to suffer for her convictions. Her life was not easy, nor was it particularly happy, but she retained her faith and kindness through it all.

Katharine deeply loved Henry VIII - possibly the only one of his wives who did. Hers was a love that grew from adversity, beginning when Henry "rescued" her from the genteel poverty and isolation thrust upon her by her father and father-in-law's bickering over her dowry and maintenance, and persisted through years of heartache and loss.

Highly educated and pious, Katharine also had a warm, generous heart. She was a champion for female education, spoke five languages, and was the first female ambassador in European history. The English people adored her. She was the perfect Renaissance queen ... in all respects but one.

Henry lied and said his father's deathbed wish was that he would wed the Spanish princess. Why? Perhaps he fancied himself in love with Katharine, then at the peak of her beauty. With her strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and flawless pink complexion, Katharine was a stunner. Her downcast eyes hid a sharp intelligence, but her gentle smile revealed her warm and generous heart. The daughter of the "Catholic Kings" of House Trastámara was also the perfect bride to help cement the Tudor's shaky claim on the English throne. (Katharine's ancestral claim was actually stronger than Henry's.)

Sir Thomas More was enraptured by Katharine when he first met her in 1501, and his esteem for her only grew over the years.

Ah, but the lady! Take my word for it, she thrilled the hearts of everyone: she possesses all those qualities that make for beauty in a very charming girl. Everywhere she receives the highest of praises; but even that is inadequate.

As for Henry, it was no wonder Katharine fell in love with him. At the time, he was considered the handsomest prince in Europe, and like many sociopaths, Henry could be extremely charming when he wished. He was musical, athletic, and pious. He was also very playful. Katharine always pretended to be surprised that the highwayman who burst into her chamber demanding to dance with the queen was revealed to be Henry when he took off his mask.

The marriage seemed like a great success. Henry wrote love ballads to his bride, singing that I love true where I did marry. He wore armor decorated with her initials and her colors tied to his sleeve, riding in the lists under the name Sir Loyalheart.

Through twenty years of love, loss, war, and the political machinations of Europe, Katharine was her husband's steadfast partner. When he was absent from the country, Katharine ruled as regent, and she rode out in full armor to address the troops  she was sending to war against Scotland.

But sorrow and grief came as well. Only one of Katharine's many pregnancies resulted in a living child - and that a girl. England erupted in celebration when a prince was born, only to see him die at less than two months old. Miscarriages and stillbirths followed, though we're not sure of the exact number. It could be as high as eight or nine.

Various causes for the death of Katharine's babies have been suggested, from blood disorders to anorexia on the part of Katharine, but the real truth is likely more mundane: a combination of diet, environment, and not allowing the body to rest and heal before attempting conception again. And given the sixteenth century's methods of noble childrearing, it's a miracle any babies survived at all.

For a king, Henry was surprisingly faithful to Katharine. Though there were whispers of his pursuit of others, we only know of two women who were Henry's mistresses for certain: Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn. Henry's son with Bessie may have confirmed in his mind that the reproductive problem was with Katharine, not himself.

Katharine's body began to wear out from this endless succession of pregnancies. She gained weight, and her hair darkened as she aged. Her piety became almost fanatic. She fasted, made pilgrimages and offerings to shrines, and reportedly wore a hair shirt under her sumptuous gowns, begging God for heirs to her kingdom. But there was only loss. Her husband began contemplating putting Katharine aside before he even met Anne Boleyn.

Katharine's last pregnancy was in 1518. Henry wrote to Wolsey about it, saying this "dangerous time" was the reason he chose not to move the court to London. The child was lost despite his precautions. Henry ceased to have marital relations with Katharine in 1524, around the time it was accepted that Katharine would bear no more children.

In late 1526 or early 1527, Henry fell in love with Anne Boleyn and became serious about the idea of setting Katharine aside. He was certain he would have sons with Anne. All he had to do was convince the pope that his marriage to Katharine was invalid on the basis she had been married to his brother before him.

Katharine was stunned when Henry first suggested to her that they were not legally man and wife. Henry persuaded her he was just looking into the matter for his own conscience's sake, to make sure they were really, truly married. But behind the scenes, he was doing all he could to sever their union.

Katharine claimed the marriage to Prince Arthur had never been consummated. Henry responded by finding "witnesses" who said Arthur bragged about his sexual prowess. The pope dragged his feet on making a decision for seven years. While Henry waited, stewed, fumed, machinated, and planned, he lived in a court of two queens. Katharine still took her rightful place beside him, but every day, Anne Boleyn grew in power and influence.

In 1531, Henry banished Katharine from court and ordered her to stop referring to herself as his wife or queen. Worse, he separated her from her beloved daughter. For such a loving mother, it must have been agony for Katharine not to be able to contact Mary. In the last letter she was permitted to send, Katharine warned Mary that Anne Boleyn might seek to have them martyred and to keep her soul prepared for it.

For her part, Katharine was convinced that it was all Anne Boleyn's fault. She blamed Anne for leading Henry into sin. It may be Katharine's influence that convinced Eustace Chapuys that it was Anne who put Henry into his "perverse tempers" and if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be behaving this way.

Katharine blamed his advisors for blocking her access to Henry, for clouding his head with the delusions that they weren't legally husband and wife. She blamed everyone but Henry himself. Even as late as 1532, Katharine was still deluding herself that Henry wasn't really serious about ending their marriage.

[Katharine] said that if she could speak to [Henry], all that has happened would be nothing, as he was so good, and that he would treat her better than ever, but she is not allowed to see him.

Perhaps Henry's public speeches on the matter added to her hope.

And as touching the queen, if it be adjudged by the law of God that she is my lawful wife, there was never thing more pleasant nor more acceptable to me in my life both for the discharge and clearing of my conscience and also for the good qualities and conditions the which I know to be in her. For I assure you all, that beside her noble parentage of which she is descended (as you all know) she is a woman of most gentleness, of most humility, and buxomness, yea, and of all good qualities appertaining to nobility, she is without comparison, as I this twenty years almost have had the true experiment, so that if I were to marry again if the marriage might be good, I would choose her above all other women.

But the truth of the matter was that there was no way in hell Henry would accept a ruling that his marriage was valid. Cardinal Campeggio, sent on behest of the pope, wrote of meeting with the king about the matter:

Next day after dinner the King visited me privately, and we remained together alone about four hours, discussing only two things. First, I exhorted him not to attempt this matter, in order to confirm and clear his conscience, to establish the succession of the kingdom, and to avoid scandals; and that if he had any scruple, he could have a new dispensation. [...]

He told me plainly that he wanted nothing else than a declaration whether the marriage is valid or not,—he himself always presupposing its invalidity; and I believe that an angel descending from Heaven would be unable to persuade him otherwise.

Campeggio begged Katharine to enter a convent, a neat solution for all who were involved because it would end the marriage, yet preserve the rights of Princess Mary to the throne. Campeggio was not pleased with her response. Katharine was famed for her mild temperament and obedience, but in this matter, she would not be moved by any earthly force.

The queen stated that she had heard that we were to persuade her to enter some religious house. I did not deny it and constrained myself to persuade her that it rested with her, by doing this, to satisfy God, her own conscience, the glory and fame of her name, and to preserve her honours and temporal goods and the succession of her daughter.

I begged her to consider the scandals and enmities which would ensue if she refused. On the other hand, all these inconveniences could be avoided. She would preserve her dower, the guardianship of her daughter, her rank as princess, and, in short, all that she liked to demand of the king; and she would offend neither God nor her own conscience.

After I had exhorted her at great length to remove all these difficulties, and to content herself with making a profession of chastity, setting before her all the reasons which could be urged on that head, she assured me she would never do so: that she intended to live and die in the estate of matrimony, into which God had called her, and that she would always be of that opinion, and would not change it. She repeated this many times so determinedly and deliberately that I am convinced she will act accordingly.

She says that neither the whole kingdom on the one hand, nor any great punishment on the other, even though she might be torn limb from limb, should compel her to alter this opinion. I assure you from all her conversation and discourse, I have always judged her to be a prudent lady. But, as she can avoid such great perils and difficulties, her obstinacy in not accepting this sound counsel does not much please.

Katharine of Aragon was the rightful Queen of England and she would not budge, would not bend, would not break. She would obey her husband in everything - except what her conscience would not allow. She would not say her marriage was invalid, because that would be a lie. She would not recognize her husband as head of the church instead of the pope, because that would be a sin. Until her last breath, she fought for her rights and those of her daughter, Mary. The price of that fight was permanent separation from the child she loved so much.

Henry's Oath of Succession forced all of England to swear to the legitimacy of his marriage to Anne and Henry's position as Head of the Church. Most swore, but there were steadfast holdouts like Thomas More who went to the scaffold because they would not. Whenever Katharine was moved to new lodgings, there were reports of crowds that turned out to cheer for Queen Katharine. She was still very much beloved by her people, and many of Henry's cruel actions toward Katharine were attributed to Anne Boleyn, whose popularity was always tenuous. To this day, there are those who blame her for what Katharine endured.

Even after Henry married Anne, Katharine still believed there was a chance he would see the light and repent and return to her arms. Reportedly, Katharine prayed every day for her husband to come back to her. She loved him, still. After all of the pain and heartbreak, all of the cruelty he had inflicted on her and her daughter, Katharine still loved Henry to the depths of her being.

Slowly, Henry stripped everything away from her. Katharine ended up virtually alone. She refused to be served by anyone who would not address her as queen and so she ended up with a pitifully small retinue, living in the drafty, neglected Kimbolton Castle, eating food her servants prepared over her fireplace because she was so fearful of being poisoned by Anne Boleyn. The daughter of the "Catholic Kings" was reduced to living in one room, eating over the fireplace like a peasant.

In some respects, Henry was right: it was her choice. If she had agreed to his conditions, she could have lived in comfort, given the honors due a princess dowager, and been permitted to see Mary again. But agreeing to those stipulations would be agreeing to lies - agreeing to sin - in Katharine's eyes. She could not do it. And so she made the only choice her conscience would allow, despite her pain.

In the end, the reformation was as much Katharine's doing as it was Henry's. Her steadfast refusal to agree to an annulment or to enter a convent combined with the pope's refusal to act made Henry feel like he had no choice. He would get what he wanted and damn the consequences. And those consequences would echo for hundreds of years in bloodshed and strife.

Katharine was horrified by what had been unleashed as she saw "heresy" sweep through the kingdom, and the heads of great men bow to the axe. As she lay dying, Eustace Chapuys ensured her the heresy wasn't deeply ingrained in the land.

And as to the heresies here [I said] she knew well that God said there must of necessity be heresies and slanders for the exaltation of the good and confusion of the wicked, and that she must consider that the heresies were not so rooted here that they would not soon be remedied, and that it was to be hoped that those who had been deluded would afterwards be the most firm...

There is a letter that's purportedly from Katharine on her deathbed. Scholars are unsure of its authenticity, but its sentiments ring true.

My most dear lord, king and husband,

The hour of my death now drawing on, the tender love I owe you forceth me, my case being such, to commend myself to you, and to put you in remembrance with a few words of the health and safeguard of your soul which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and pampering of your body, for the which you have cast me into many calamities and yourself into many troubles.

For my part, I pardon you everything, and I wish to devoutly pray God that He will pardon you also. For the rest, I commend unto you our daughter Mary, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, as I have heretofore desired. I entreat you also, on behalf of my maids, to give them marriage portions, which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants I solicit the wages due them, and a year more, lest they be unprovided for.

Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things.

Katharine the Quene.

That last line is one of the most heartbreaking things ever written.

It had been arranged beforehand that when Katharine took her last communion, she would swear on the host that she had been a virgin when she married Henry. But, in the end, she didn't do it. Why? At the last moments of her life, did it not seem important? Or, had Henry really been telling the truth all along and Katharine did not want to meet her Maker with a lie on her lips?

Around two in the afternoon on January 7, 1536, Katharine of Aragon died. Chapuys reports that Henry ostentatiously celebrated when he heard the news, exclaiming that England was now freed from the danger of war. He and Anne, arrayed in yellow, paraded baby Elizabeth around to the courtiers at the feasts and jousts held afterward. However, Seigneur de Dinteville reported that Anne locked herself away in her oratory and wept after she heard the news. Had she - in the end  - respected her rival, despite everything?

Henry ordered that Katharine be given the funeral and tomb of a princess dowager - the title she had as his brother's widow - and it was probably at his behest that the funeral sermon included the claim that on her deathbed, Katharine had admitted she was never truly Henry's wife.

Try though he might, Henry could never erase Katharine from the hearts and mind of the English people. Even after her death, she was still revered.

One hundred years later, Katharine had a miracle attributed to her. In 1640, a man with a tumor growing on his forehead claimed to have dreamt of water dripping on her tomb. When he visited the church and saw water on the slab, he dipped his finger into it and was cured of the growth.

Descriptions of the tomb Henry built for Katharine are somewhat vague, and it seems it was dismantled, piecemeal, over the years. Her hearse seems to have have been left in place as it's described as being destroyed in 1643 during the English civil war because it had an altar in it. During that period, the gilding on the tomb was stolen, and the black marble ended up being used for a floor of one of the dean's summer houses. According to The Cathedral Church of Peterborough A Description Of Its Fabric And A Brief History Of The Episcopal See by W.D. Sweeting,

Queen Katherine of Arragon was buried in the north choir aisle, just outside the most eastern arch, in 1535 [actually 1536]. A hearse was placed near, probably between the two piers. Four years later this is described as "the inclosed place where the Lady Katherine lieth," and there seems to have been a small altar within it. Some banners that adorned it remained in the cathedral till 1586. About the same time some persons were imprisoned for defacing the "monument," and required to "reform the same." The only monument, strictly so called, of which there is any record, was a low table monument, raised on two shallow steps, with simple quatrefoils, carved in squares set diamond-wise. Engravings of this shew it to have been an insignificant and mean erection. A few slabs of it were lately found buried beneath the floor, and they are now placed against the wall of the aisle. One of the prebendaries repaired this monument at his own cost, about 1725, and supplied a tiny brass plate with name and date, part of which remains in the floor. This monument was removed in 1792.

Afterward, Katharine's grave remained mostly unadorned until Katharine Clayton, the wife of one of the cathedral canons, had the idea of making an appeal to English women named Catherine to help her restore Katharine's resting place to something befitting a queen. An engraved marble slab was installed and a grille with the gilded words KATHARINE QUEEN OF ENGLAND was mounted above. Mary of Teck (consort of George V) ordered that the banners of a queen - the arms of England and Spain - be hung above, giving back Katharine's due honors after 400 years.

The memorial plaque installed calls her a queen beloved by the people for her virtues. Today, visitors still leave pomegranates on her tomb, and every year, the cathedral hosts a festival in Katharine of Aragon's honor.

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The Queen is Dead: The Death and Burial of Mary I

It's probably not unfair to say that Queen Mary I died of a broken heart, though medically it was probably ovarian cancer that lead to her demise. Mary's life was one of unrelenting sorrow and disappointment.

After a golden childhood in which she was the cherished "pearl" of her father's kingdom, Mary's life was thrown into misery when Anne Boleyn entered the picture and her father sought an annulment from her mother. Mary refused to accept her father's position on the divorce, or as head of the church. She believed denying the authority of the pope was tantamount to denying Catholicism as a whole, and accepting that her parents had never been married was a lie that would damn her soul. Mary was exiled from court, separated from her beloved mother and refused permission to see her, even as Katharine lay dying. She eventually broke down under her father's relentless bullying and submitted to him, but their relationship was never the same.

When she came to the throne, Mary saw it as a chance to set everything right again and restore England to the enchanted, golden kingdom she remembered from her childhood. She expected her own marriage to be as happy as she remembered her parents' union as being before Henry was "lured away" by Anne. Mary was half in love with her husband before she even met him. She began rolling back the religious reforms of her father and brother's reigns, expecting the English people would be grateful to be taken back into the arms of the Catholic church.

She was deeply disappointed on both accounts.

By 1558, she was a broken woman, abandoned by her indifferent husband after two false pregnancies, and bewildered by the persistent "heresy" she fought so hard to eradicate from her kingdom. Strange that a woman who venerated saints martyred for their faith wouldn't understand why burning "heretics" didn't have the desired effects.

As Mary lay in her bed in St. James Palace, the halls echoed with silence. The court had abandoned her as well, flocking to her sister Elizabeth, who would soon wear the crown. It was something Elizabeth never forgot - how Mary had been abandoned by the fickle court as she lay on her deathbed. It was one of the reasons Elizabeth always resisted naming her heir, delaying unto the last moments of her life.

Mary slept longer and longer hours as her illness sapped her strength, and toward the end, her moments of lucidity were few. But she was able to make her will. In the end, Mary couldn't quite bring herself to name her sister as heir, saying only that the throne should pass as the law dictated.

John Foxe wrote of her death in his Acts and Monuments:

As touchyng the maner of whose death, some say that she dyed of a Tympany, some by her much sighing before her death, supposed she dyed of thought and sorow. Whereupon her Counsell seyng her sighing, and desirous to know the cause, to the ende they might minister the more ready consolation vnto her, feared, as they sayd, that she tooke that thought for the kynges Maiesty her husband, whiche was gone from her. To whom he aunsweryng agayne: In deede (sayd she) that may be one cause, but þt is not the greatest wound that pearseth my oppressed minde: but what that was she would not expresse to them.

Jane Dormer's account says Mary gave her ladies pious exhortations, and had pleasant visions of angelic little children playing around her bed and singing.

Her sickness was such as made the whole realm to mourn, yet passed by her with most Christian patience. She comforted those of them that grieved about her; she told them what good dreams she had, seeing many little children like Angels play before her, singing pleasing notes, giving her more than earthly comfort; and thus persuaded all, ever to have the holy fear of God before their eyes, which would free them from all evil, and be a curb to all temptations. She asked them to think that whatsoever came to them was by God's permission; and ever to have confidence that He would in mercy turn all to the best.

From the time of her Mother's troubles, this queen had daily use of patience and few days of content, but only those that she established and restored the Catholic Religion to her kingdoms. While she was queen, in those few years, she suffered many conspiracies, and all out of malicious humours to God's truth. She gave commandment to all, both of her Council, and servants, to stand fast in the Catholic religion ; and with those virtuous and Christian advices, still in prayer and hearing good lessons, receiving the holy Sacraments of the Church, left this world, which was the 17th day of November, 1558.

That morning hearing Mass, which was celebrated in her chamber, she being at the last point (for no day passed in her life that she heard not Mass) and although sick to death, she heard it with so good attention, zeal, and devotion, as she answered in every part with him that served the Priest; such yet was the quickness of her senses and memory. And when the Priest came to that part to say, Agnus Dei, qui follis peccata mundi, she answered plainly and distinctly to every one, Miserere nobis, Miserere nobis, Dona nobis pacem.

Afterwards seeming to meditate something with herself, when the Priest took the Sacred Host to consume it, she adored it with her voice and countenance, presently closed her eyes and rendered her blessed soul to God. This the duchess hath related to me, the tears pouring from her eyes, that the last thing which the queen saw in this world was her Saviour and Redeemer in the sacramental species; no doubt to behold Him presently after in His glorious Body in heaven. A blessed and glorious passage.

Reality probably wasn't so inspiring. Mary was given last rites just before midnight on Wednesday, November 16, 1558 and mass was celebrated in her chamber for the last time at dawn the following morning. Afterwards, Mary fell asleep and died somewhere between five and seven AM. One account says she passed so quietly that no one noticed for a while, which is why we don't know the exact time of her death.

The few remaining courtiers scattered, everyone hoping to get to Elizabeth first with the news. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton pulled a ring from Mary's finger (some sources say it was her coronation ring; others say it was her betrothal ring) and took it to Elizabeth as proof of the queen's death, but was crushed when he arrived and discovered that his news was already rendered "stale" by the arrival of the council.

Mary's body was left with the handful of loyal household attendants who would prepare her for burial. They didn't have undertakers in the Tudor era. It was Mary's own physicians and household officers that embalmed her, rendering their final services to their queen. Her mother, Katharine of Aragon was embalmed by her chandler, the household officer in charge of candles and soap.

Mary was disemboweled by her surgeons and her heart and lungs were removed. The Clerk of the Spicery and the chandlers packed body's cavity with spices and herbs before wrapping it in cerecloth, a wax-coated white cloth used for burial shrouds. (Agnes Strickland cites an early historian, Gregorio Leti, who claimed Mary was buried in the habit of a nun, but considering she was uxorious in the extreme, I think it's unlikely.)

The cloth-wrapped body was enclosed in sheets of lead by the "serjeant plummer," and then was placed inside a coffin. It was covered in purple velvet and decorated with lace and gold gilt nails - exactly the kind of coffin that Mary would have wanted.

As was common, the organs that had been removed were buried separately. Mary's heart was placed in a silver casket lined with velvet and buried in the Chapel Royal of St. James. Her entrails might have gone to Westminster Abbey, because this interesting tidbit is found in the Memoir of Richard Busby.

About the beginning of the year 1670, the funeral obsequies of General Monk were celebrated previously to which a royal vault was opened in which were two urns; one appropriated to Queen Mary, the other to Queen Elizabeth. I dipped my hand into each. I took out of each a kind of glutinous red substance, somewhat resembling mortar. That of Mary only contained less moisture.

For over twenty days, Mary lay in state inside St. James, candles flickering around her bier. Elizabeth had ordered the highest respects be paid to her sister, modeling the services on those performed for her father. With one difference, however - Mary's rites were fully Catholic. Her ladies prayed around the clock beside her coffin, while masses were said for Mary's soul.

On December 13, the funeral began. Mary's coffin was placed on a magnificently bedecked hearse and drawn to Westminster Abbey. On top of the coffin lay a wooden effigy, dressed in one of Mary's own gowns, holding a scepter and wearing a crown. Embalming being as primitive as it was, the wooden or wax effigy would lie in view for the month-long duration of the funeral instead of the actual body, so they felt it was important for it to be as lifelike as possible.

Elizabeth spared no expense in decking out the chapel for the service:

First, the Chapel was hanged with black cloth and garnished with scutcheons. The Altar was trimmed with purple velvet, and in the Dean's place was hanged a canopy of purple velvet, and in the midst of the said Chapel there was made a Hearse 4 square of 46 great Tapers, the which did weigh 20 lbs. weight, the piece being wrought with Crowns and Rosses of the same, and beneath the same Tapers a Vallance of Sarcenet, with the'Queen's worde ' written with letters of gold, and a fringe of gold about the same Vallance, and within that Vallance a Vallance of Buckrum with a fringe of black silk. The said Hearse was richly set with 'penceles and Seochins of Arms in metall.' There was under the said Hearse a Majestie of Taffeta with a Dome gilded, and 4 Evangelists in the 4 Corners of the said Majestie.

The 6 posts were covered with black velvet, and on every post a 'scochin' of sarcenet in fine gold, the rayle of the same hearse within was hanged with a broad black cloth and the ground within both railes covered with black cloth, also the other side of the stools, which was instead of tbe rails on each side, was hanged with black. At each end there was made a Rail over what the said Chapel, which was also hanged with black and garnished with seochins ; within the rayles stood 15 stools covered with fine black cloth, and on the same 15 cushions of purple velvett, and under the feet 15 cushions of black clothe, at the head of the Hearse, without the rayle, there was made an altar, which stood on the left-hand of the Choir, covered with purple velvet, which was richly garnished with ornaments of the Church, which Chapel being thus furnished, order was given to the Serjeant of the Vestry for the safe keeping of the same till such time as the said Royal corpse was brought down unto the said Chapell.

Some sources say Elizabeth made dark hints about her displeasure if the court didn't turn out for Mary's funeral, so it was a parade of the highest nobles in the land.

Then the Bushope of Worcester and other bushops, with the Queen's Chapel went up to fetch the said Corpse, and the Chapel stayed in the Great Chamber and the said Bushops went into the Chamber where the corpse was, and censed it and said divers prayers, and after the said Corpse was taken up by 8 Gentlemen and all the other sett in order, that is to say the Cross and on each side a white branch (carried by boys in surplices), then the Chapel, then all the Gentlemen and Squires with the Chaplains of no dignity, and on each side went the foresaid officers with torches and the said Guard also.

Then all Knights and after them Councillors—then Barons, Bishops (not in pontificalibus), then the Overseers, then Earls, then the Executors, then the Kings of Arms; then the Corpse covered with a Pall of Cloth of Tissue of Gold (with the Crown of Cloth of Tissue) on each side the Corpse two Noblemen, that is to say, the Marquis of Winchester, the Earl of Westmoreland, Earl of Shrewsbury, and the Earl of Derby which touched the Corpse with his hands, and over the said Corpse was borne a canopy of purple velvet with 6 blue 'knopes' borne by 6 gentlemen. Then after the Corpse the Chief Mourner the Lady Margaret Countess of Lynnoux assisted by the Earl of Huntingdon and Viscount Montague, her train born by the Lady Katherine Hastings assisted by the Vice-Chamberlain, and after her the other (14) mourners, two and two: after them the other Ladies and Gentlemen, then after followed the Garde, and in this order went into the Chapel where the Corpse was placed within the Hearse, and Mourners, on each side seven, and at the head the Chief Mourner, kneeling at the Stools and Cushions as is aforesaid.


The services were elaborate and lengthy, as Tudor royal funerals always were. Finally, after all of the ceremonies, Mary was buried in the chapel built by her grandfather, Henry VII.

Then the corpse was taken up by them that before bare the same and was carried to the chapel which was appointed for her burial, and there the foresaid Archbishop with the other Bishops said all the ceremonies. In the meantime of the saying of these prayers the iiij gentlemen ushers took away the pall, then the corpse was let into the grave and the Archbishop cast earth on the same.

Then came the noblemen, being officers, to the grave and brake their staves over their heads and cast the same into the grave; as the Lord Treasurer, the Lord Chamberlain, the Treasurer and Comptroller, the Sergeant Porter and the Gentlemen Ushers, their rods, and then they departed again to the other noblemen. And the burial ended, the Archbishop and the other Bishops did unrevest themselves. The ceremony of the burial done, as is aforesaid, of the said noble Queen (whose soul, God pardon!) the Noblemen and Prelates then there assembled, having with them the officers of arms, then came forth unto the face of the people, and Garter, principal King-of-Arms, assisted by ij Bishops, did declare the style of the Queen's Majesty in this manner.

"Of the most high, most puissant, and most excellent Princess, Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc.; God save Queen Elizabeth." Unto the which word all the noblemen held up their hands and caps, and the trumpets standing in the Rood loft sounded; and this done all the estates and others departed to the Abbot's house to dinner.

All in all, this extravaganza cost over £7,662, which is the equivalent to several million dollars today. But Elizabeth insisted upon it. Any disrespect shown to a Tudor monarch disrespected her own crown, after all.

Mary's widowed husband, Philip II of Spain wrote to his aunt about his wife's passing at the end of a letter describing his peace negotiations with France:

The queen, my wife, is dead. May God have received her in his glory. I felt a reasonable regret for her death. I shall miss her even on this account.

He instructed his agent in England to represent him at the funeral and make sure to collect an extensive list of jewels he had left behind in England when he last departed. He was given back La Peregrina, the massive pearl he had given to Mary for their wedding. (It was recently auctioned off at the estate sale of Elizabeth Taylor to an anonymous buyer.)

Mary's will specified that her mother, Katharine of Aragon, was to be exhumed from her humble tomb in Peterborough Cathedral and brought to lie beside Mary, and an honorable tomb be erected in memory of the both of them.

Despite the honor Mary paid to her mother's memory, she had made no moves to rectify her mother's simple burial as a princess dowager during her five-year reign. She left it to the daughter of Anne Boleyn. Did Mary really believe Elizabeth would re-bury Katharine with the honors due a queen when Elizabeth's legitimacy rested upon the notion that Katharine was not?

The tomb was never built, but too much shouldn't be read into that. Elizabeth seemed to have an aversion to tomb building in general. She never marked Anne Boleyn's anonymous grave beneath the floor of St. Peter-ad-Vincula, nor did she build a tomb for her father, nor for her little brother, whose grave was unmarked until 1966. She didn't even build one for herself. That fell to James I, after Elizabeth's death.

Mary's grave was unmarked for nearly fifty years after her death. Sources record that rubble from altars broken up during the Reformation were piled up on top of her tomb. When Elizabeth died, she was temporarily interred with her grandfather, Henry VII until James could finish building her magnificent tomb. When it was finished 1606, James exhumed Mary and buried her within it as well.

Elizabeth's carved marble effigy is the one that decorates the lid of the tomb, and it is her achievements inscribed in Latin on the sides, but an inscription on the lower portion of the tom mentions Mary's presence as well:

Partners in throne and grave, here we sleep, Elizabeth and Mary, sisters, in hope of the Resurrection.

Perhaps Dean Stanley's epitaph was better than any inscribed on the tomb:

"The long war of the English Reformation is closed in those words. The sisters are at one; the daughter of Katherine of Aragon and the daughter of Anne Boleyn rest in peace at last."


The two coffins were placed into the same vault below the floor, Elizabeth's coffin placed on top of Mary's. For one last and final time, Mary was placed in a subordinate position to her half-sister.

The Historical Memorials of Westminster Abbey mentions that Elizabeth's and Mary's tomb was opened once during the search for the body of James I:

The excavations, however, had almost laid bare the wall immediately at the eastern end of the monument of Elizabeth, and through a small aperture a view was obtained into a low narrow vanlt immediately beneath her tomb. It was instantly evident that it enclosed two coffins, and two only, and it could not be doubted that these contained Elizabeth and her sister Mary. The upper one, larger, and more distinctly shaped in the form of the body, like that of Mary Queen of Scots, rested on the other.

There was no disorder or decay, except that the centering wood had fallen over the head of Elizabeth's coffin, and that the wood case had crumbled away at the sides, and had drawn away part Vault of of the decaying lid. No coffin-plate could be discovered,  but fortunately the dim light fell on a fragment of the lid slightly carved. This led to a further search, and the original inscription was discovered. There was the Tudor Badge, a full double rose, deeply but simply incised in outline on the middle of the cover; on each side the august initials E R: and below, the memorable date 1603. The coffin-lid had been further decorated with narrow moulded panelling. The coffin-case was of inch elm; but the ornamental lid containing the inscription and panelling was of fine oak, half an inch thick, laid on the inch elm cover. The whole was covered with red silk velvet, of which much remained attached to the wood, and it had covered not only the sides and ends, but also the ornamented oak cover, as though the bare wood had not been thought rich enough without the velvet.

The sight of this secluded and narrow tomb, thus compressing in the closest grasp the two Tudor sisters, ' partners of the same throne 'and grave, sleeping in the hope of resurrection '—the solemn majesty of the great Queen thus reposing, as can hardly be doubted by her own desire, on her sister's coffin—was the more impressive from the contrast of its quiet calm with the confused and multitudinous decay of the Stuart vault, and of the fulness of its tragic interest with the vacancy of the deserted spaces which had been hitherto explored in the other parts of the Chapel. The vault was immediately closed.

"May they rest in peace while we walk the generations around their strife and courage under these restless skies."


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The Other Boleyn Boys

Anne, Mary, and George Boleyn are the famous Boleyn siblings, but there were at least two other Boleyn children who are known to us only by their graves, and a few faint historical traces that leave more questions than they answer.

Around 1498, Thomas Boleyn married Lady Elizabeth Howard, though we're unsure of the exact date. Later in life, Thomas wrote:

When I married I had only 50£ a year to live on for me and my wife as long as my father lived, and yet she brought me every year a child.

Thomas Boleyn could have been exaggerating slightly - or some of these pregnancies might not have resulted in living children - but it seems most of Elizabeth's pregnancies occurred early in their marriage, in rapid succession. We know of at least five Boleyn children.

The stories of Mary, Anne and George are well-known ... But what happened to the other Boleyns?

In Saint John the Baptist Church of Penshurst, there's a small brass cross set into the floor over the small tomb slab of "Thomas Bwllayen the sone of Sir Thomas Bwllayen." It's in the Sidney chapel, tucked against another monument, a tiny marker on the floor that's easy to miss.

In St. Peter's Church, Hever, there is the little tomb slab of Henry Boleyn, marked in the same fashion, with a slightly different cross. This grave is set into the floor beside the head of Sir Thomas Boleyn's chest tomb.

Both tomb slabs are very small - only a couple of feet square, and the simple brasses that mark them are stylistically dated to around 1520. Because stillborn children weren't usually named or memorialized, these boys likely lived for at least a short time.

Thomas the Younger - as I'll call him to avoid confusion with his father - might have been the eldest son, based on common naming traditions of the day, but that is not a certainty. Henry's place in the birth order of the Boleyn children is unknown, open to speculation.

What happened to these "other Boleyn boys?" Based on the size of their graves and the simplicity of their markers, most historians have come to the conclusion that both of them died as infants. However, it's recently been suggested by Alison Weir in her biography of Mary Boleyn that both Thomas the Younger and Henry lived to adulthood.

In the first edition of this book, I stated that Mary's brother, Thomas Boleyn, was buried in Penshurst Church, and that his tomb is marked by a brass cross and the date 1520. 

[...]

The inscription on the brass reads 'Thomas Boleyn, son of Sir Thomas Boleyn'. That must date the brass to after June 1509, when the elder Thomas was knighted. Brasses were often small, even for adults, so the size of this brass does not necessarily indicate that Thomas Boleyn died in infancy. Indeed, he is likely to have been the eldest son, and if he was the son who went to Oxford University at 17, then he must have been born in the mid-to-late 1490s. After perhaps studying at Oxford, it is possible that he entered the household of the Duke of Buckingham, which might explain his burial at Penshurst. Buckingham, of course, was executed in 1521. 

[....]

It is possible that these brothers both lived into early manhood; it may even have been Henry who went to Oxford. Two cross brasses of similar date might indicate that they died around the same time, possibly from the same cause. In 1517, for example, there was a severe epidemic of the sweating sickness, which caused high mortality in England, notably in Oxford and Cambridge.

The first problem with Weir's theory is the idea that Thomas the Younger was born in the "mid to late 1490s." We know that Elizabeth Howard was unmarried in 1495, based on the poem written about her by John Skelton. Elizabeth's jointure was documented in the summer of 1501, and jointure was usually settled within a year after the marriage, though there was no exact time limit. Scholars typically place the date of Thomas and Elizabeth's marriage in 1498 or 1499, so 1499 seems like the earliest possible birthdate for Thomas the Younger. He wouldn't have been seventeen, and able to attend Oxford, until 1515 or 1516.

Secondly, there is no evidence of Thomas Boleyn the Younger or Henry Boleyn as adults. Neither is mentioned in the records as being a student at Oxford unlike their brother, George - though it is true that not every student who didn't matriculate is noted.

It would be surprising if the ambitious Sir Thomas Boleyn didn't try to get his eldest son a position at court, but Thomas the Younger is not mentioned in the records. We have mentions of Anne and Mary at their respective courts as early as 1514, but no records of Sir Thomas Boleyn negotiating for a fine marriage for his eldest son or attempting to get him a position. The one reference we have, to a "Master Boleyn" attending a court function with his father, may easily refer to George.

Nor are there - as far as I know - any records that show a Thomas Boleyn serving the Duke of Buckingham. The accounts of the duke's household do not mention Thomas Boleyn the Younger (and Buckingham left behind a surprising amount of personal accounts, records, and correspondence.) Thomas the Younger may not have been particularly of note to his contemporaries, but it certainly would have been worthy of mention for later researchers if they discovered his name among the records. 

This is not - of course - absolute proof that Thomas the Younger and Henry were already dead, but there isn't any proof they were alive, let alone attending Oxford, or serving the Duke of Buckingham circa 1520.

More importantly, if Thomas the Younger and Henry died in 1520, why were their grave markers so simple, more suitable to infants than a courtier and heir to a wealthy, influential man? Brasses commemorating adults usually showed a figure in prayer.

Nor does this account for the very small sizes of the tomb slabs themselves, which was usually - though not always - large enough to cover the entire length of the grave. It makes little sense that adult Boleyn men would have been buried so simply, under such tiny monuments, at a time when the Boleyns could afford better.

Applying Ockham's Razor to the situation, the simplest explanation seems the correct one in this case. Is it more likely that the two "other Boleyn boys" lived until 1520 while attending university and a ducal court without being noted in any records of the day, died at roughly the same time, and then were buried in different churches beneath tiny tomb slabs bearing the plain, simple markers of infants? 

Or is it more likely that Thomas and Henry died young and their tombs were marked later when the Boleyn family had more funds?

In the Tudor era, graves of infants were often unmarked. It was a time in which a third of children died before age five, and a full fifty percent would not survive to adulthood. Even the children of royalty might lie in unmarked graves. Henry the Duke of Cornwall, son of Henry VIII and Katharine of Aragon, died before he was a month old and was given a lavish funeral in Westminster Abbey, but his grave was unmarked, though the general location is known. 

When infant burials were marked, the memorials were usually very simple, such as the brass crosses seen on the graves of the Boleyn boys. Another form was known as the "chrysom brass" that showed a swaddled infant.

That the Boleyns had these memorials installed years after the deaths of their babies implies an emotional aspect to the decision. They weren't under any societal expectation to do so, in other words. They must have marked these graves because they wanted Thomas and Henry to be remembered.

Weir is certainly correct that the brasses cannot date from before 1509 when Sir Thomas Boleyn was knighted. If they do, indeed, date from around 1520 (the word "circa" gives a decade of wriggle room on either side of that number) the brasses likely wouldn't be commemorating infants that recently died. At that date, Elizabeth Boleyn would have been in her forties, and probably was no longer having children.

The similarity in the brasses could be put down to the simple fact that they were created around the same time - possibly even by the same workshop - to mark both extant tombs. The cross of Thomas the Younger is more detailed, as would befit a first son, but the inscription plates are nearly identical.

But questions remain. Why was Thomas the Younger buried at Penshurst instead of at Hever with Henry and Sir Thomas Boleyn? 

Claire Ridgway at the Anne Boleyn Files speculates that the Boleyn family was visiting Penshurst while Hever was being renovated after Thomas inherited it in 1505. Perhaps that's where Thomas the Younger was born and passed away shortly after birth. She has an excellent video about the controversy.

People were often buried where they died, even if they were just visiting. Anne Astley, sister of Elizabeth Wood Boleyn, died in childbirth during a visit to her sister's home, and is buried at Blickling Hall. Elizabeth Boleyn herself is buried with her family at Lambeth, where she may have been visiting when she passed away.

Henry, then, may have been born after 1505 when the Boleyns moved to the castle. The family marked his grave in the Hever chapel after 1509 when his father was knighted. Decades later, Sir Thomas Boleyn's tomb was placed right beside that of his infant son.

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